


Another Cinderella Story

by DroughtofApathy



Series: A Thousand Lifetimes [16]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Cinderella Redux, F/F, Forced Servitude, Homosexuality is a normal and common thing, Orphaned Child, Pseudo-Incest, Realistically helpful fairy godmothers, Worldbuilding, but like not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-21 02:16:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17634122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DroughtofApathy/pseuds/DroughtofApathy
Summary: Once upon a time, there lived a young girl in a stately manor on a hillside. Her mother had died in childbirth, leaving behind a squalling daughter and a distraught wife.In this story, the girl grew up to be just as willful and brilliant as both her mothers. In this story, she is not kind and gentle. In this story, the stepmother is not overly cruel and the stepsisters not wicked.In this story there is a prince and a princess, and a ball, and a few fairy godmothers. But in this story it is not a pretty dress and a pair of glass slippers that makes the girl desirable.





	Another Cinderella Story

**Author's Note:**

> The world needs more fairy tales with casual lesbianism being just another feature in the world. Give me lesbian fairy tales!

Once Upon a Time, there lived a young girl in a stately manor on a hillside. Her mother had died in childbirth, leaving behind a squalling daughter and a distraught wife. The wife did her best, taking along the girl when her work kept her close by, leaving her behind with nurses and caretakers when the roads went too far. In this story, the little girl did not grow up to be a nauseatingly nice girl who thought of nothing but sunshine and rainbows.

In this story, the girl grew up to be just as willful and brilliant as both her mothers. Most tutors and governesses fled the manor as soon as they came, declaring they simply could not contain the girl’s spirit, and refusing to live with someone who could not be properly kept in line. The girl did not want to become a proper lady of the manor, nor did she enjoy blood sports and formalities. She stayed small and slender, with long black hair and tanned skin no matter how much the governesses tried to keep her pale and pretty.

The girl’s living mother did her best not to spoil her daughter, only bringing the girl back trinkets and little treasures most would consider trash. The girl never minded, instead just enjoying the days her mother could spend at home with her. The girl was thirteen when her mother remarried. She did not begrudge her for anything, knowing the last thirteen years had been so very difficult for her mother.

Her mother brought the Widow Amella back to the manor, her own two daughters in tow. The girl, who reluctantly styled her hair and donned a dress, greeted them at the door. Curtsying deeply, the girl introduced herself as Fiona, her mother’s daughter.

Amella, no longer quite a widow, inclined her head regally, presenting her own children, Madeline and Marvalyn, who graciously thanked her for welcoming them into her home. Fiona didn’t exactly have a choice, but had the sense enough not to mention her own thoughts.

While the servants brought her stepfamily’s things inside, and her mother brought her new wife up to their bedroom, Fiona was left to entertain the two girls. Unsure exactly what to do, she took them up to the top of the manor’s turret. She liked to retreat up there when the adults of the manors grew tiresome.

Madeline and Marvalyn looked each other’s sisters as much as Fiona did. There was no other word for the way Marvalyn appeared but frail. The girl, eleven years old, had fine blonde hair just like her late father, and only stood a bit taller than Fiona herself. No easy feat considering how tiny Fiona was. She appeared utterly incapable of doing anything without being told by either her elder sister or her mother. Her blue eyes seemed to be the only feature her and her sister shared. Well, that and their pale skin.

Madeline, on the other hand, looked just as willful and self-reliant as Fiona herself. She towered above both her sister and stepsister, and her hair was a shockingly deep red. Her curls fell perfectly around her shoulders. She was older than Fiona by just a year, and had started to develop rather nicely, Fiona thought. Though she didn’t appear to be well-endowed, her hips seemed shapely enough. Something Fiona had been told would mean ease in childbirth. Others wanted that in a woman.

The girls seemed pleasant enough, and in time Fiona and Madeline grew rather attached to each other, spending every moment they could together. Fiona’s mother hoped Madeline’s grace would rub off on her daughter, but that only seemed to work to a point. Soon, Madeline’s mother began to separate them, fearing Frida’s surly nature would exacerbate her own daughter’s occasional impertinence.

Amella wasn’t an unkind stepmother, if a bit distant. Fiona rarely saw her, if she were being honest. But she saw her more than her own mother, so Fiona did her best to be a dutiful stepdaughter. She didn’t resent her new family, though she sorely wished her mother had told her beforehand. She’d have dearly loved to be at the wedding, even if it was just a simple signage of paperwork at the courthouse.

Fiona never said any of that, of course. For as opinionated and rebellious as she was, Fiona never did like a conflict. So, she kept her thoughts to herself, and worked to be as agreeable as she could. Best not to rock the boat too much, lest her mother worry herself sick.

The years passed, and Fiona grew up. She didn’t quite get much taller, and to the untrained eye, looked as frail as her younger stepsister. But she wasn’t. No, Fiona was stronger than she looked, and in time became a proper lady, if a bit more hostile than most. And the older she got, the more she and Madeline started sneaking off together. She liked Madeline. Her wit, her regal nature. They got on very well indeed.

And then, when Fiona was fifteen, her mother fell gravely ill. Some foreign disease she’d caught whilst traveling the lands. Not, thankfully, contagious. So, the woman came home to die surrounded by her loved ones. Day and night, Amella refused to leave her bedside. Even if Fiona doubted the woman’s love for her, she never doubted Amella’s devotion to her mother.

The woman grew sicker and sicker, and not once did either her wife or daughter waver. They sat on opposite sides of the bed, barely eating or sleeping all the while. Sitting vigilant, each silently wondered if each breath would be her last.

As the night fell, and Amella collapsed from exhaustion, Fiona took the time to truly examine her stepmother. What little she saw of the woman bore little resemblance to the creature before her. Amella had always struck Fiona as a beautiful and uncrackable woman who would never degrade herself by being seen with even a hair out of place. But, stricken by grief, Amella looked truly appalling. Her hair hung limp around her shoulders, and her face, blotchy and red, was stained with tears. Fiona couldn’t imagine she appeared much better.

Unable to help herself, Fiona softly brushed the woman’s dark hair out of her face. Her heart went out to the previously cold and unfeeling woman, and she wondered if her dying mother had sat at the bedside of her dead mother like this. Perhaps not. Childbirth rarely did come with certainty.

A movement startled her away from Amella, and Fiona immediately turned her attentions to her mother. She winced, heart seizing. She’d never seen her normally so active and vibrant mother lying so still. Even as she slept, the woman would toss and turn and even kick. She often joked that her wife, Fiona’s mother, always threatened to move into a separate room if it kept up. She never did make good on the threat.

Feebly, her mother raised a trembling hand to cup Fiona’s cheek. Fiona swallowed, unmoving, as she wondered if perhaps this would be it.

“No,” her mother rasped as Fiona went to raise her head and stand. “Stay put, my dear. I have much to tell you before I go. Please, wake your stepmother. I fear I am not long for this world now.”

Fiona nodded dutifully, gently shaking Amella awake. She blinked blearily, but immediately focused when she saw her wife awake. She and Fiona grasped the woman’s hands, tears already pooling in her eyes. Fiona’s mother went to wipe them away, hushing her gently. Amella nodded, her breathing coming in short gasps as she tried to regain her composure.

“My loves,” her mother said weakly. “I am so very sorry to leave you in this way. I only wish we had more time together. And you, my daughter, you are still so young. A girl of your age to be without both her mothers. You look so very like her, and she would be proud to see you now. Promise me you will carry on her legacy.”

Fiona nodded, wiping her eyes on the bedsheets. But she couldn’t bring herself to voice her promise. As a rule, she’d never made any promise in her life because one never knew. But her mother knew this and did not press. Instead she turned to her wife.

“Amella, my love,” she said fondly. “Oh, my beautiful wife. You deserve so much better than a broken woman. Give my love to your wonderful daughters, and swear you will care for my own as you would them. Fiona is what I leave behind, and the light of my life.” Amella’s mouth pressed into a thin line as she worked to hold in her sobs.

Without a word, Amella buried her face the blankets, body shaking with tears. Fiona did not cry again. Instead she sat up and watched. She would not let her mother die without her there to see her go. Not again.

“How I’ve waited to see your mother again,” Fiona’s mother murmured, closing her eyes for the last time. Moments later, she breathed her last, finally slipping away into the night.

And though Amella had not been watching, she knew immediately. With an anguished cry, she flung herself at the corpse. Ugly tears flowed from her eyes as she struggled to breathe. Fiona pressed a hand to her mouth, despair enveloping her entire body. She watched frozen as Amella clutched desperately at her deceased wife, shaking the body, and begging her to come back. Not to leave her here alone.

Fiona knew she had to be strong. Her mother had always taught her to stay strong in the face of turmoil. She stood, walking over to the other side of the bed. As carefully as she could, she tried to tug her stepmother away lest she hurt herself.

“Please, Stepmother,” she said, pulling her away. Amella struggled weakly against her. “We must mourn her as she would want to be mourned. Please, come sit. I will put on a pot of tea so we might calm ourselves.”

Amella wrenched away, shoving Fiona aside. Fiona gasped, stumbling to the ground. Amella stood over her, swallowing her tears and standing proudly. To her shame, Fiona shrunk away, suddenly fearful in the face of Amella’s furious face.

“You are a wretched child,” Amella hissed, yanking Fiona up to better face her. Fiona tried twisting out of her clawed grip to no avail. “You selfish, spoiled, brat! You are the reason my wife is dead. This is all your fault, you horrid little bitch. God, it should have been you in that bed. How dare you sit by her bedside when you put her there to begin with? Had you not begged _my_ wife to bring you back a useless bauble from that godforsaken land, she never would have gone. She’d have been at home, with _me_. Safe and alive, but you killed her just like your other mother.”

Fiona inhaled sharply, feeling as though Amella had stabbed her with a knife. She finally managed to pull away, clutching her bruised arm. Angrily, she opened her mouth to argue that her mother’s death had been a tragedy, but not to dare accuse her of being at fault.

Amella shrieked at her in rage. She reared back, bringing a stinging slap to Fiona’s face. Fiona yelped, recoiling. She cradled her cheek in shock. Despite her willful and surly past, no one had ever dared strike her before. No matter how disobedient she’d been, it had never come to blows. For a moment, she and Amella stared at each other. Fiona couldn’t say who looked more shocked. But then, Amella’s face hardened.

With a pained roar, she flung open the bedroom door, and pushed the girl out into the hall. Fiona fell to the carpet, wincing as her knees hit the floor.

“Get out of my sight,” Amella screamed. “Go, you disgusting little wench! I’d gladly never see your miserable face again. Go!” And heaven help her, Fiona ran. Scrambling off the floor, she turned tail and fled to her room. Throwing herself into her bed, and burrowing under the covers, she trembled in fear and anger.

While Fiona had never felt much fondness for the Widow Amella, she never outright despised her either. She’d simply been another person in the manor. Never did Fiona ever expect her to turn on her like that. It chilled her to the bone.

A knock at the door startled her out of her fearful reverie. Slowly, Fiona emerged from the blankets and quietly gave whoever it was permission to enter. The door opened, and Madeline poked her head in. Fiona started, expecting the girl to be at her mother’s side.

“My sincerest condolences,” Madeline said, coming to sit at the foot of Fiona’s bed. Fiona laughed humorlessly, rubbing at her red and swollen eyelids. “And, please. I must apologize for my mother. She is simply…overcome with grief and cannot be blamed for her words. She should not have said those things.”

Fiona scoffed, hiccupping slightly. Whatever her reasons, it did not excuse the woman’s conduct. But as much as what Amella said angered her, it also struck a chord. For Fiona _had_ asked her mother if she might travel to that place. Fiona had read about the culture, and found herself enthralled. Perhaps her mother would have gone regardless, but the reason she went right then was because Fiona asked. And Fiona rarely asked for anything so when she did, her mother never refused. Fiona knew that. Perhaps…perhaps Amella was right, and this was all Fiona’s fault.

Madeline hugged her close as she sobbed. Grieving for her mother she’d lost fifteen years ago, and for the mother she’d just lost that night. And if she forgot to grieve for a stepmother who evidently wanted nothing to do with her, she didn’t feel particularly guilty afterwards.

Still, no amount of being screamed at and hit prepared Fiona for what happened the next morning. Stumbling down while the sun still slept, Fiona didn’t expect anyone to be awake. She’d hoped to snag a bite to eat before stealing away back upstairs until Amella calmed down some. Hopefully.

With still-swollen and reddened eyes, she sulked in the corner as the water heated up. A sharp bang jerked her from her own internal grief. Standing at the doorway to the kitchen, with both daughters in tow, stood Amella. Had Fiona not been there to bear witness, she’d never have believed the proud woman had bawled her eyes out hysterically last night.

Standing haughtily, Amella started forward towards Fiona who stood unflinching. The girl would not act so cowardly as last night again.

“I would not be so unreasonable as to deny you your mourning period,” Amella said coldly. Fiona nodded, but did not speak. She had no idea what Amella was leading up to, and couldn’t even begin to make sense of it. “However, after the burial, we will discuss the changes I wish to impart on this household. I loved my wife dearly, and it is only with that love in mind that I do not toss you out into the streets. You are your other mother’s daughter first, and you will not threaten my daughters’ rights. I have ensured that you shall be heir to nothing. You are not, have never been, and shall not be a member of my family. Understood?”

Fiona angrily made to protest. She had lived in this house her entire life, and as her mothers’ firstborn, she held the rights to inherit. But Amella harshly grabbed her arm, pulling her close and hissed, “understood? Answer me, girl!”

“Understood,” Fiona said, gritting her teeth. She glared right back at Amella, but at the woman’s grip tightened to unbearable tension, she flinched, looking away. With a satisfied nod, Amella shoved her away, and turned to leave the dimly lit kitchen. Marvalyn followed, shooting Fiona a confused but rather blank look. Madeline stayed a moment longer. She seemed just as bewildered as her sister, but beneath that, Fiona saw a streak of anger against her mother.

Fiona shook her head pointedly, turning back to her heated water. It would not do for Madeline to go against her own mother lest she end up like Fiona. Madeline scowled, not at all liking it. She knew damn well Fiona deserved none of this absurdity, but she held her tongue as Fiona wished.

They buried her mother underneath the great weeping willow next to her late wife. A few neighboring families and nobles came to pay their respects, but most simply sent letters of condolences because the manor was simply too far out to make the journey. The royal family sent out a dignitary who made sure the Widow Amella knew that if she needed anything she had their support. He did not speak to the daughter of the deceased. Fiona preferred it this way. Though she believed her mother to be worthy of the grandest of grand burials, she didn’t want so many people intruding on her moment.

The small crowds eventually thinned until only she and the other occupants of the house – for Amella had scathingly told her they were not to be called her stepfamily any longer – remained. Only then did Fiona see Amella’s appropriately somber façade crack. The distraught woman sank to the ground on the freshly dug earth, weeping openly. Her daughters flanked her sides, murmuring empty words of comfort. Their veiled heads bent low over the grave of Fiona’s mother, and though Madeline kept clear of the other grave, the others didn’t notice as their shoes crushed the carefully cared for flowers that grew over Fiona’s other mother’s remains.

Fiona sat heavily on a bench just next to the tree trunk, burying her face in her hands. She wished they’d leave. Leave her alone to pay her respects and begin to fix up the bland dirt with flowers and foliage. But, through her tears, Amella sent her a glare sharp enough to kill. The message was clear; Fiona was not welcome in this moment. So, stiffly, Fiona stood and retreated back into the house.

She silently climbed the stairs to her turret where she could look out into the garden. Through the weeping willow’s branches, she could just barely see the brown dirt standing out starkly against the lush green grasses.

Fiona sat unmoving long after the sun went down. She felt unnaturally hollow; empty. Her mother always taught her to be strong, but she couldn’t help but feel so very weak. Not just because she felt utterly alone, but because she’d allowed that woman’s hateful words to burrow deep within her. She hadn’t been strong enough to resist. God, it was all her fault. All of it. And it was for this very reason that Fiona did not fight back. She deserved this. And if this was how she would atone, cast out of her only living pseudo family, so be it.

The next day, Fiona learned just how good Amella intended to make on her promise. Waking to find most of her clothes had been packed away to be sold, and jewelry given to Madeline and Marvalyn, Fiona stood at her nearly empty wardrobe in bewilderment. Only her most plain clothes remained, and just a single pair of house shoes. Her books had been placed in the library, and all her valuable belongings redistributed.

“Seeing as you are not family,” Amella explained, standing at the doorway. “It would be improper for you to continue living here as you do. I’ve taken the liberty of firing the two maids and fully expect you to take on their duties. I will remind you that if you refuse this generous offer, I shall have no other option than to send you on your way. Know that you will not receive any money from me if you do. Now, take your things upstairs into that turret you so love. I will have the groundskeeper assist you in bringing down a suitable bed from the attic.”

She thrust a small sack of cloth at Fiona who took it automatically. She dared not open it while Amella still held her gaze. Already she’d been the first to break twice over. But, dismissively, Amella waved a careless hand at her. Fiona nodded, moving to go past the tall woman.

“Oh, and one more thing,” Amella said airily. “You are to address me from this moment forth with respect. Madame or Ma’am will do just fine. My daughters will be addressed as Miss. Any orders they give you, unless expressly refuted by me, will be carried out as efficiently as possible. You are nothing, girl. The woman my wife first married was but a common street wench, and you are nothing if not your mother’s daughter. Understood?”

“Yes…Ma’am,” Fiona said. Immediately, Amella slapped her. Fiona hissed in pain. And the other mark had just begun to fade too. With a harsh warning never to speak to her or her children in that tone, she dismissed Fiona once more.

Fiona silently marched up the steps to her new living space, dragging her heavy trunk filled with everything she’d been left with behind. The groundskeeper, Yanni, tipped his hat to her sympathetically. He’d been with the manor for years. Since before Fiona had even been born, really. But Amella paid his weekly wages, and he dared not disobey, no matter how loyal he was to the young lady before him.

“Thank you, Yanni,” Fiona said, struggling to push the trunk through the door. Yanni quickly came to her aid.

“Miss, I truly am so very sorry,” he said. Fiona quickly shook her head, glancing over her shoulder. She informed the groundskeeper that she was no longer to be referred to as Miss. Her new mistress made very certain of that. Yanni nodded somberly, and lumbered down the steps once more.

Fiona slumped. The heat of the turret weighted heavy, so the first thing she did was fling open the single window. The summer breeze helped stave off the heat while Fiona hurriedly unpacked her things. The turret, which only held the bed, a dusty night table Yanni had graciously brought up, and the window seat, didn’t have much room for storage. She sighed, but slid the box of the trinkets her mother had brought her over the years under the bed.

Setting to work, she cleaned the space as best she could, putting fresh sheets on the bed, and neatly storing her clothes in her trunk. The bag of cloth Amella had given her sat atop the window seat.

With a suspicious look, Fiona dumped the contents on the bed. Inside, a few plain dresses and aprons as well as a small pile of dull cotton underthings. All of her fine lace underclothes had been taken, she remembered. So, with a sigh, she lifted her nightdress over her head, leaving her completely naked. Well, she thought sardonically, she’d never have to suffer through corsets again.

She’d just managed to slip on the unadorned undergarments when the door burst open and Marvalyn skipped in. Fiona gasped, whirling around. She blushed, just barely visible against her olive skin.

“Mother says to come downstairs immediately,” Marvalyn said, giggling slightly at Fiona’s state of undress. Fiona nodded, reaching for one of the dresses, but Marvalyn grabbed her arm, and pulled her downstairs, saying her mother had said for her to come immediately.

They arrived in the sitting room with Fiona terribly uncomfortable being so underdressed. But Amella didn’t seem to have an ounce of sympathy. Instead, she said tersely that because Fiona had already wasted enough time, she’d have to take care of her chores like that for the day.

“Mother, no,” Madeline said, respectfully not looking at Fiona’s scantily clad body. “Really, it’s- it’s improper. Why, the groundskeeper is just outside. You can’t possibly-” She stopped, seeing the look her mother sent her. Amella coldly explained servants need not worry about modesty, and Fiona would not mind. Madeline looked about to argue once more.

“It’s alright Miss,” Fiona said stiffly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I believe today is usually reserved for window washing.” She paused, swallowing her pride, and masking her humiliation. “Will you be needing anything before I start, Ma’am?” Amella smiled triumphantly, but sent her on her way.

Fiona decided she both hated and enjoyed window washing day. Being so tiny, she had to constantly move the heavy ladder as she went, leaving her knees aching, but it was quiet work that one could easily adjust to. Besides, she had to be grateful Amella didn’t require her to wash the outside windows.

She’d just returned from lugging a heavy bucket of clean water up to the second floor when a noise startled her, causing the bucket to jostle. The cold water soaked into her chemise, chilling her to the bone. She gasped, carefully putting the bucket down before scrambling to wipe up the small puddle before it got to the carpet.

“Oh, sorry,” Marvalyn giggled. “Are you okay?” Fiona nodded, carefully carrying the bucket to her ladder. Madeline hushed her younger sister, looking at Fiona in concern, but Fiona just mopped up the droplets that ran down her skin. She flushed hotly, seeing how the thin white fabric turned transparent. Madeline blushed just as intensely, the color featuring prominently on her pale skin, but couldn’t seem to tear her gaze away.

“Girls,” Amella said, her heels echoing against the floor. Fiona whirled around, crossing her arms over her small bosom. Amella eyed the sodden clothes critically. “Well, if you so insist on exposing yourself, you won’t mind dressing this way tomorrow then.”

Fiona flinched, hugging herself tighter, but nodded, and immediately returned to the windows. She did her best to ignore the three pairs of eyes on her as she clumsily climbed the ladder one handed. Tears of mortification stung at her eyes, but she would not allow them to fall. She was her mother’s daughter.

Fiona learned soon enough exactly what the lady of the house expected of her. Each morning, she rose before sunrise to take care of herself. She had a pitcher of water she used to wash, and a small bar of soap. Once she finished washing and dressing, for she’d managed to retain her clothing after those first few days, she dashed silently downstairs to set the table for breakfast.

She quickly scarfed down her light breakfast the cook set out for her, before darting back upstairs to wake Amella and her daughters, and help them dress.

At first, it had been a strange experience. Both Madeline and Marvalyn felt utterly uncomfortable dressing in front of someone who had once been their equal, but Marvalyn adjusted easily enough. Madeline first insisted on changing behind a privacy curtain, only asking for help with her corset stays, but after Fiona whispered that Amella would surely punish her if Madeline did not let her do her task to completely, she relented.

Dressing her former stepfamily didn’t pose too much of an issue. None of them, not even Amella, acted outright cruel to her. They didn’t require her to do everything, instead just using her to tighten corset laces, and fasten dresses. Still, Fiona dreaded the days Amella decided to wear the blue satin. Those buttons, she feared, would be the death of her. Though she learned quickly how to use the button hook most effectively, she found her small fingers to be nimble enough to work faster.

In the beginning, Marvalyn had not worn a corset. She’d been just thirteen at the time, and skinny as a rail. Being the one to help the blonde girl into her clothes each day, it was Fiona who first took note of her budding figure.

“Miss,” she said mildly. “If I may. You are beginning to develop, and it may soon be time to see about a corset fitting.” Marvalyn looked mildly alarmed at the prospect, immediately forbidding Fiona from ever mentioning it to anyone else. Fiona nodded, but pursed her lips. Sooner or later, either Amella or Madeline would notice.

Madeline took her comments much better than her sister. When Fiona noticed how the redhead had begun to stretch out her clothing – though her breasts stayed on the smaller size of average, her hips filled out nicely – she merely eyed herself in the mirror and nodded.

“Hmm,” Fiona had said one day. “Miss, your corset needs relacing. If you’ll let me, I can fix it before I sleep tonight.” Madeline had nodded, smiling slightly. She’d stopped asking Fiona to call her by her name long ago, learning if Fiona was to debase herself, she was to do it completely, without reminder of the past.

After Fiona finished dressing each of the three women, she hurried downstairs to set out their breakfast. She knew how each of them liked it, having memorized it the first time to keep from being punished.

Fiona made herself scarce during breakfast, taking the time to tidy up the sitting room as she kept an ear out for the bell. When it rang, she went back, cleared the table, put up the dishes, and then went about her daily chores.

She’d worked out a rather genius schedule on a weekly rotating basis. Mondays became carpet days, Tuesdays she dusted and wiped down the shelves in the library, Wednesdays windows. She admitted her first few weeks were a scramble to learn the best ways to operate without ruining anything. Her mistakes meant punishment if the lady of the house found out, which she almost always did. So, Fiona learned. Never had she been more grateful the manor wasn’t a giant mansion than those weeks.

She spared a break from her work in time for the midday meal where she began the breakfast routine all over again. The lunch hour lasted longer than breakfast, so Fiona hurried upstairs to begin tidying up the three bedrooms. Those first few weeks, she’d been unable to finish in time, but smartly had left Madeline’s room to last. The other girl kept her room as neat as she could lessen Fiona’s burden. But now, Fiona could easily scrub and polish every surface and make the beds before the meal even finished.

It continued much of the same way for the rest of the days. When at last the final supper dish had been scrubbed clean, and the three women peacefully reading in the sitting room, Fiona disappeared into the garden where she tenderly kept her mothers’ graves in order. She knew Amella must have known where she went, but the woman did not begrudge her this, and Fiona so appreciated it.

The years flew by, until Fiona could no longer be considered a girl, but instead a young woman. And the same could be said of the other two. At twenty-one, Madeline was due to be married off to a wealthy lady or gentleman but for some reason Amella held off. Madeline didn’t understand it, but Fiona did.

“Fiona, what is it? What is Mother planning?” Madeline whispered one night as Fiona brushed out her long red hair. “Oh, I just know it’s something utterly mad.”

“Not exactly,” Fiona said, beginning to braid the thick mane. “But you know of the Princess-regent and the Prince, of course. They are to turn twenty-one this year, and there is rumor the royal family shall throw a ball in their honor. And they’re looking for spouses. I’d imagine your mother has high ambitions for you, Miss.”

Madeline stayed quiet, mulling this over. She’d thought of it, being a consort to the Princess, or the wife of the Prince. Sometimes she imagined she’d take to it in a heartbeat, other times she wanted nothing more than to run and hide. With a soft sigh, she closed her eyes as gentle hands twisted her hair into some semblance of order. Oh, how lovely that felt. She purred deep in her throat.

Fiona flushed at the sound. It was no secret she liked the fairer sex, and she knew personally how pretty she’d found Madeline for all these years.  Once, she’d wondered if perhaps – had their mothers not married – she and Madeline might have been considered as a potential betrothed. After staying up half the night with those fantasies, she’d immediately banished the idea from her head.

“You have a rather high chance of catching the attention of one of those royals, Miss,” Fiona said, unable to help herself. “I don’t have to tell you just how pretty you are. They’ll be fighting over you, mark my words.” Now it was Madeline’s turn to blush. She turned to look at Fiona, leaning forward. Barely inches apart, they stared into each other’s eyes. Then, Fiona pulled back, looking more than slightly panicked.

“I- I have to- I’m sorry, Amella wouldn’t like us…” Fiona darted out the room with a last longing look in Madeline’s direction. Neither woman slept much at all that night. But by morning, they both stubbornly and conveniently forgot it ever happened.

The tea had just finished steeping when a knock at the door drew Fiona’s attention away from the flames. She hastened to the door, accepting the letter from the messenger with a gracious nod. It bore the seal of the royal family.

Right there at the table, Amella laid out her plan to marry her eldest daughter to the Princess-consort. The Prince if push came to shove. Madeline stiffened, looking unsure. To entice royalty seemed almost impossible. But at the ball she just might be able to manage it.

Fiona watched and listened from the shadows. A festival, lasting three nights where the royal children were to meet their future spouses. All eligible and respectable men and women of the kingdom – and several surrounding kingdoms – were to attend. And oh, how Fiona wished to attend the ball. She sighed quietly. Such a stupid idea, she thought. It had been over five years since she’d been formerly out. If the elite could only see her now.

She gazed down at herself, at her worn apron, her threadbare dress. She was still so very tiny, but had gained subtle muscles over the years, and calluses on her hands. Once the daughter of a successful businesswoman, Fiona now held the status of a mere scullery maid. No royal would ever want her for a bride, and having never officially been given a debut, she had no idea how to act at such an event anyway.

As Madeline and her mother, with occasional interjections by an excited Marvalyn, discussed the battle plan, Fiona stole away to her mothers’ graves. With incredible care, she began tending to the budding flowers.

“I wish…I wish you both were still here with me,” she whispered, wiping a stray tear from her eye. “I am so sorry, mothers. I know…I know it’s my fault. I know it’s because of me you both died, but I’ve done my best to atone all these years. Mother, I never knew you, but I am your daughter as everyone says. But I am also Mother’s daughter. And I can’t do this anymore. I am going to that ball, and I can only pray that you forgive me.”

She placed a kiss on each of her mothers’ grave stones before dashing back into the house to clear the lunch plates. Madeline gave her an anxious smile. She and her mother were going into the market to have new dresses made, Marvalyn coming along to lend moral support. Though Marvalyn was eighteen years of age, her mother had her sights set a tad lower for her frailer daughter. She’d only be getting fitted for one new dress, but she didn’t seem to mind at all. For all Marvalyn’s faults – her unwavering obedience to her mother, her readiness to have dismissed her former stepsister – she never once felt even a drop of jealousy towards her older sister.

Fiona trailed behind them all, ready to carry anything they required of her. She had to admit, the trip passed in a bit of a blur. So caught up in her own plans, she’d failed to remember the day’s events.

That night, she opened her trunk. There, at the bottom, sat her mother’s wedding dress. She’d been married in the traditional dress of her people, and the beautiful red color, though faded, still shone. Her mother, so said her other mother, had been such a tiny woman. Almost as small as Fiona. The dress hung a bit loosely, but she’d become an expert at mending and alterations after years of adjusting the clothes of two developing girls.

She burned the midnight oil, staying up well into the witching hour to finish her dress. She’d have to wear the same outfit each night, but Fiona didn’t care. All she wanted was a chance to spread her wings and fly this damn nest. The manor hadn’t been a home in years.

The day before the first festival night came, the house a flurry. Fiona expertly packed up their carriage for their journey to the palace. Or, more specifically, a rented townhouse just outside the palace where they could comfortably stay. Fiona helped Madeline into the carriage last, the redhead giving her a slight smile. Deep in her own trunk, wrapped in linens, sat Fiona’s modified dress. Fiona made sure each of them were situated, before hopping onto the back of the carriage. Hopefully she could keep hold of the handles until they reached the palace.

Hours before the ball began, Fiona frantically did her best to ready the two anxious girls and their fretful mother. Each time a problem cropped up, Fiona solved it. She relaced corset stays, fixed wayward threads, and coifed three types of hair.

“You look beautiful,” Fiona said to a nervous Madeline. “Take a deep breath, Miss.” Easier said than done in a corset, but Madeline nodded. Amella watched them carefully as Fiona pinned the final curl in place, and stepped back to admire her handiwork. Madeline beamed at her, then quickly shooed her out of the room.

Fiona raced down the steps to ready herself. And her first move was to give her person a thorough, but quick, scrub-down. She didn’t have the time to fix her hair as nicely as Madeline or Marvalyn’s, so she instead began a winding braid around her head. Then, came the moment of truth. With a calming breath, she donned the delicate silk. One false move could tear it to shreds.

“I’m ready,” she said breathlessly, moving into the front room. Both Marvalyn and Amella stared at her in shock, Madeline with pride.

Amella blinked. She’d never noticed, the girl having been hidden under dust and rags, but Fiona had grown up into a truly stunning young woman. With her face, in that dress, why she looked just like Amella’s late wife’s late wife. But, beneath it all, she saw traces of the woman she loved. Fiona was her mothers’ daughter, after all.

But Amella blinked again, and she suddenly saw her own daughter’s prospects dip that much lower. For Fiona could easily steal the attentions of the royal children with a single batted eyelash. And though Amella had stopped truly despising the girl long ago, she refused to let her interfere with Madeline’s life.

“You’re not going,” she ordered firmly. Fiona balked, glancing down at herself. “Darling, the invitation strictly said only members of my family would be on the guest list, and either way, the crowd demands women of high-born status. Not chamber maids. You would never be allowed to attend. And besides, that dress. Why, my dear, it looks as though once sharp move could tear it in two.”

To demonstrate, she aggressively spun the smaller woman, tugging slightly so Fiona lost her balance and toppled to the floor. And they all heard the loud ripping sound. Fiona gasped, twisting, and only making the problem worse.

“Mother!” Madeline gasped, rushing to Fiona’s side. But Fiona just pushed Madeline aside, sprinting out the back door and into the courtyard. “Wait, Fiona!” She hiked up her skirts and followed despite her mother’s firm protests.

Madeline found Fiona curled up next to the trunk of a cherry tree. She sobbed into her arms, her dress in tatters. Fiona knew even if Amella had allowed her to go, her dress would have likely fallen apart at the ball. Better to be humiliated here than there. But to have one of the few things left from her mother destroyed stung.

The redhead wanted nothing more than to crouch in the grass next to the hysterical woman, but knew she’d only dirty her own dress.

“I wish…I wish I could have done more for you,” Madeline whispered. “Not only now, but in the past as well. I should never had let her do this to you, Fiona.”

“No,” Fiona said, shaking her head and wiping at her eyes. “Your mother had every right to do as she did. It was my fault that they died. I just wish…”

“Oh, finally,” came a voice from behind them. Fiona and Madeline whirled around, wide-eyed. “I thought you both would never ask.” Standing before them, two women dressed in elaborate silks, looked down at them. Speechless, Madeline could only stare at them, until the darker skinned of the two rolled her eyes and pulled her to the other end of the garden.

“Who the hell are you?” Fiona demanded, picking herself up off the ground. The woman, Lenora, smiled at her sadly. They were, her and her wife, their fairy godmothers. Well, more specifically, she was Fiona’s and Saffron was Madeline’s. They’d come to help. Fiona just looked at the woman incredulously.

Help. Just the thought made Fiona laugh bitterly. Where the hell had her fairy godmother been when her mother died in childbirth? Where had she been when her other mother succumbed to some foreign illness and died right in front of her? When her stepmother had cast her out, and turned her into nothing more than a servant? No, instead she had the gall to show up and offer her goddaughter, what, a pretty dress and a new pair of shoes as thought that would fix everything.

“I am sorry I could not have done more in the past,” Lenora said. “But that is not how magic works. I could not have saved you from everything you’ve been through, but I can help you get out now. A pretty dress, and new pair of shoes, yes. And you will be able to do as you wished. Attract a young woman who can whisk you away.”

“I’d rather a small sack of silver and gold,” Fiona muttered. “Just enough to be able to survive. But I suppose a dress will have to do.”

Across the courtyard, Madeline had received much of the same explanation. Saffron, her fairy godmother, seemed far more interested in Madeline’s relationship with Fiona than anything.

“Well, you’ve already found a way to the ball,” Saffron said, with a roll of her eyes. “You don’t need nearly as much help as your dear friend over there. But no, you have your mother to worry about. The woman will no doubt be watching for you all night. But…if you were to have another dress and mask…yes, that way you could dance with the one you truly wish to.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Madeline sputtered, blushing hotly. “Really, I must be going.” Saffron nodded. With a wave of her hand, Madeline felt her clothing shift until the dress she’d once been wearing turned the most wonderful shade of red. She’d so wanted a red dress, but it simply wasn’t proper. Madeline looked at Saffron in confusion.

“Simply snap your fingers and the dress will shift once more,” Saffron said. “You can dance with the royals, and you can dance with _her_. Now, go!’ Without another word, Saffron shooed the indignant woman back to her family.

With Madeline safely on her way, Saffron wandered back over to her wife. Lenora smiled at her, and together they waved their hand over the young woman. Fiona grudgingly spun around as her mother’s dress transformed into beautiful black satin. She gasped, feeling a corset tighten around her midsection. The neckline of the dress plunged, showing off cleavage she never knew she could have. And her hair, the simple braid unwound itself and became swept up in a style far too complex to even think of. The shoes, with their startling heel, added to her diminutive height.

“Thank you,” Fiona whispered, examining the delicate mask. “Thank you, but I still have no way of leaving. No way to get there or back.”

Saffron and Lenora just exchanged amused glances. With another wave of their hands, they easily solved that problem. No, not as the story goes, with mice and pumpkins. Really, that sort of amateur’s magic never lasted long. No, instead, they simply whisked the young girl away, at last landing just outside the castle.

Fiona gasped, stumbling slightly in her precarious heels. She looked around in amazement. Catching a glimpse of herself in a reflection, she nearly sobbed. Fiona looked…she looked like her mothers’ daughter, and perhaps the dress wasn’t the style she wanted, but she looked beautiful. She turned to thank her godmother and her wife once more, but they’d disappeared. So, with a last glance about, she started up the long staircase.

She slipped in almost unnoticed, feeling horribly overwhelmed. Not for the first time Fiona wondered if perhaps she should have just stayed. Just remained at home where at least her life had some guarantee. But with this opportunity in arms reach, she just had to take it.

So, with the courage of both her mothers on her shoulders, she lifted her chin, and entered the fray. Almost immediately, a woman bowed to her, offering her hand. Belatedly, only after she’d been led onto the dance floor did Fiona remember she had no idea how to dance. But, she’d been in the room for all of Madeline and Marvalyn’s lessons. It was enough to get by.

The woman towered over her, and wore a most daring shade of red. She spun Fiona around, with a small laugh. And Fiona knew that voice well. Oh, she should have immediately recognized.

“Madeline,” she whispered. “What on earth are you doing with me?” The woman, Madeline, flushed slightly under her ornate mask. But she didn’t answer, instead dipping her to the ground.

They danced for what felt like hours, and the entire time they talked freely. But soon enough, Fiona pushed the wonderful woman away.

“You have a princess or a prince to dance with,” Fiona whispered. “Wouldn’t want your mother to start to wonder where you are.” Madeline looked about to protest, but Fiona stepped away with a parting promise to see her in the gardens in an hour’s time. Madeline nodded, smiling slightly. Then, she melted into the crowds.

Fiona disappeared out the doors and into the immaculately kept gardens. She wondered why more people didn’t escape here from the crowds, but didn’t quite mind at all. Smiling, she sat down on one of the marble benches, just enjoying the flowers.

An annoyed mumbling disrupted the peace. Fiona turned to see a woman dressed more finely than anyone else she’d seen.

“Oh,” the woman said, seeing Fiona. “I’m sorry, I thought I was alone. Just needed to get a bit of fresh air. My name’s- um, my name’s Elle.” She didn’t remove her mask. Fiona nodded politely, introducing herself.

“Gets a bit stuffy,” Elle said, sitting next to Fiona. “I’m afraid I’m not good with people.” Fiona smiled. She knew that feeling well.

Elle, Fiona discovered, made for wonderful conversation. Still half terrified, such a proper woman would see through her mask in seconds, Fiona mostly just listened. Elle seemed more than a little thrilled to have someone to complain to. She’d feared Fiona might judge her for complaining when she lived such a comfortable life, but Fiona had been through too much to judge others. She listened with objectivity, offering bits of advice or support.

The hour past impossibly fast. Elle seemed startled, standing, and insisting they rejoin the ball. She offered her hand to Fiona, but Fiona shook her head.

“I’m sorry, but I’m waiting for-” she turned, noticing movement out of the corner of her eye. There, still in red, stood Madeline. A man trailed behind her, talking animatedly. “Madeline.”

“I see you’ve met someone,” Madeline said curtsying to Elle. “Your Highness, it is an honor.” The man behind Madeline clapped Elle on the shoulder. Fiona looked between the three of them in dawning realization. Elle, short for Briella, the Princess-regent.

“I- I have to go,” Fiona said, hastening to gather her skirts. She glanced up at the clock. Though her godmother had said she needn’t return at any specific time, she’d warned her to be home before Amella. “I’m sorry, your Highness. I didn’t realize-”

Elle reached out to her, begging her to wait, but Fiona knew how to disappear, and easily slipped back into the crowds. Elle turned to Madeline asking who that woman was. Madeline could only wordlessly stare after the other woman.

Fiona returned home with another burst of magic. She struggled out of her elaborate dress, cursing all the while. It was always so easy to get someone else out of their clothes, but damn if she didn’t find this impossible. She only just managed to change back into her regular things, and fix her hair when she heard the carriage pulling up. Hurrying to the door, she met Amella and her daughters outside.

“Madame,” she greeted, ushering the three of them inside. Amella sighed, kicking off her shoes with a groan. Marvalyn looked nearly asleep on her feet. Clucking in sympathy, Fiona tended to her first. She deftly unlaced and unbuttoned her out of her dress, and tucked the girl into bed. Madeline and Amella had already managed to remove most of their layers, evidently too tired to wait for Fiona.

“We expected you to be asleep, Fiona,” Amella said, glancing her way. Fiona hummed, carefully putting away the fine clothes. She did feel completely exhausted, but needed to make sure Madeline was well taken care of first. Madeline smiled slightly, handing Fiona her jewelry.

“Would you tell me about the ball?” Fiona asked. “I could only imagine how splendid it must be.” Amella sighed, sitting down in an armchair. She beckoned Fiona forward, holding up a tea cup. Madeline stole off to bed, with one last longing glance towards the woman near the fire.

Amella watched the small girl as she worked. Oh, how she wished things could have been different. But the past was in the past, so, she took her tea and went off to bed without a word, leaving Fiona to curl up near the fire.

She sighed, letting a tear run down her cheek. Fiona hadn’t expected Amella to actually tell her a thing, but she’d hoped. Such a foolish thing, hope. But the hope that maybe one day things could be different kept Fiona from jumping from her turret tower.

The three women slept most of the day away, finally rising when Fiona began laying out their dresses for the ball that night.

“No, Fiona, thank you,” Amella said, gently pushing the girl back. “I fear I am not feeling well after last night. The girls can attend without me.” Madeline started, eying her mother suspiciously, but Fiona merely nodded, dressing the others.

She sent them off with a wave before turning her attention back to Amella. Whatever Madeline might have suspected, Amella did truly look slightly ill. She coaxed the woman into bed, placing a cool cloth on her head.

“How can you care so much,” Amella murmured. “After everything I’ve done to you, you choose to aid me when you could just as easily leave me in discomfort.” Fiona rolled her eyes, but hushed her.

“My mother loved you,” Fiona said. “It’s enough for me. Now, just rest. I’ll make you some herbal tea, Ma’am.” Fiona stood, darting off into the kitchen where she found Lenora waiting. Lenora held out a small vial. After Fiona made sure it would not hurt Amella, she nodded, placing two drops into the already steeped tea.

With Amella out cold, Fiona went to the ball, this time dressed in midnight blue. Though she searched the crowds for a redhaired woman, she simply couldn’t see above the crowd. Then, a hand touched her waist.

“You ran off so suddenly last night,” Elle said, drawing Fiona onto the dance floor. “I apologize if you took offense to something I said. I know I must seem completely ridiculous to you, complaining while I stand next in line for the throne.”

“You could never be ridiculous, your Highness,” Fiona said diplomatically. “Simply because there are those less fortunate, does not mean your problems are not valid. And it is I who should be apologizing for being so very callous. You’ve been nothing but kind to me this entire time.”

They twirled around the dance floor, Fiona doing her best to keep up. Just as last night, Elle chattered away, pulling Fiona close. And Fiona couldn’t deny she enjoyed being admired. And Elle was just so wonderful that Fiona smiled in spite of herself.

“Hello, sister dear,” Elle’s brother, the Prince, said, dancing up to them with his own partner in tow. Fiona looked up, gasping slightly as she saw Madeline. Madeline’s gaze flickered away uncomfortably. Fiona looked down with a blush.

“Brother,” Elle greeted. “I’d like you to meet…Fiona. Who will hopefully promise me she won’t run tonight.” Fiona smiled tightly in return. She didn’t look at Madeline again, keeping her gaze fixed on the ground. Madeline felt her chest tighten, but nodded. Expertly, she steered the Prince away again, and only then did Fiona relax.

But just like the last night, Fiona stole away before the carriage came to collect Marvalyn and Madeline. Elle let her go, still just as confused. She hadn’t even gotten a proper name from the young woman. With a sigh, she turned back to the ball hoping Fiona would come again the next night and she could finally keep her from running.

Fiona returned to the townhouse and immediately went to Amella’s side. The woman slept. Lenora sat next to the bed, watching over her. She disappeared once Fiona entered, redressed in her tatters, but the young woman didn’t question the whims of a fairy. She felt Amella’s forehead, pleased to find the fever had gone down.

The next morning, Amella awoke to find herself very much better. Madeline tried to speak to Fiona, but the smaller woman just kept her head down as she pulled at the buttons on Madeline’s last dress. Finally, Madeline gave up, angrily shoving Fiona aside as she climbed into the carriage. Amella laid a hand on her shoulder, watching Fiona from the window as they left.

“Are you ready for my best work yet?” Lenora asked once the carriage disappeared from sight.

“Yes,” Fiona whispered. “I have a princess to entice, after all.” Lenora smiled sadly at her, but nodded all the same. And clad in her armor, Fiona set off one last time.

And this time, Elle stood at the steps waiting for her. Fiona smiled, this time freely. And she took Elle’s hand, and the two of them danced the night away. But from the arms of her Prince, Madeline watched. It had been so long since she’d seen Fiona look anything more than bitter. And if Elle put that look on her face, she’d have to be okay with it. So, with one last glance at her, Madeline turned back to her Prince.

She’d only looked away for a single moment, but a loud crash pulled her attention back. Fiona sat on the floor, surrounded by flower petals and glass, and Madeline instinctively ran to her.

“Don’t,” Fiona snapped, pushing her away. “Just don’t.” And Fiona ran. Again. Madeline looked up at Elle. The Princess-consort looked devastated. But before the woman could ask Madeline any questions, the redhead took off.

“Mother,” she said, pulling Amella away. “Please, I want to go home. Please.” Amella looked at her daughter, and saw the tears in her eyes. She nodded, pulling her into a hug

They arrived back at the townhouse to find Fiona already packing their things. Amella didn’t bother to ask however. Not when her eldest daughter sat in tears. Fiona wordlessly packed up the carriage, and they set off home.

“It’s okay, my love,” Amella soothed, stroking Madeline’s hair. “It doesn’t matter at all.” But Madeline only sobbed harder. And, curled up on top of the carriage, Fiona listened and wept herself.

Days passed. The manor returned to normal. No balls, no royalty, just normalcy. And then, someone appeared in the garden, under the weeping willow.

Fiona tended to her mothers’ graves as she always did. Once again covered in dirt and grime, she sighed heavily, flopping into the grass. There had been no sign of Lenora or Saffron since the night of the ball, and Fiona couldn’t bring herself to care anymore. She got what she wanted at its most basic level; a few nights to rise above her station, and she’d thrown it all away. And she liked Elle. She liked Elle so very much, but…

“Excuse me?” Fiona rocketed up, brushing off her clothes. There, standing before her was the Princess-regent. “Can you tell me where I might find Madeline? Madeline Bordeaux. Only, she might know where I might find…Fiona? Is that you?”

Fiona gasped, looking away and dropping to the ground. She shied away from the other woman, suddenly ashamed.

“Please, don’t look at me,” Fiona whispered. “I’m not...I’m not who you thought I was. Please forgive me for deceiving you, but I truly meant no harm.” Elle sat down in the dirt next to her. With a small sigh, Elle asked Fiona to explain herself. From the beginning.

Shakily, Fiona nodded. And she told Elle everything. What other choice did she have but to obey?

“So, you see why I couldn’t keep up the charade any longer,” Fiona said. “I’m nothing. We could never- you deserve someone better. Someone who can be the woman you need her to be. Not me. Please, with all due respect, please leave.” Elle nodded, standing up.

“My brother will be here tomorrow to propose to Madeline,” Elle said. “I will be with him. If you change your mind, know that none of what you said matters to me. I still like you so very much.” She brushed Fiona’s dusty cheek, before finally leaving.

Fiona touched her mothers’ graves, weeping once more. She felt pathetic, and dirty, and disgusting. And she couldn’t do it anymore.

“Mothers,” she said. “I- I can’t do it anymore. I can’t stay in this house, and watch her day in and day out. I love her. I love her, and she surely must know, but just look at me. I am your daughter, and I’m done blaming myself, and I’m done blaming Amella. This is goodbye, because I can’t do it anymore.”

Night fell, and Fiona slipped out front door. She raced down the path to the front gate only to run smack into Amella. Squeaking in surprise, she stumbled back.

“I’m done,” she said, more strongly than she felt. “You can’t stop me.” And without waiting for an answer, she ran. She ran until Amella could no longer see her.

Madeline woke the next day, feeling like something was missing. Fiona. No Fiona to wake her, or to help her dress. Instead, Marvalyn helped her tighten her stays, and fasten her dress. She didn’t understand, and immediately demanded to know where Fiona had gone. But Amella said she’d simply sent her out to the market.

And then, the Prince arrived. Madeline froze, swallowing thickly. She thought she’d never see him again after leaving like she did, but here he was.

“My Lady,” he said, bowing deeply. “From the moment I laid eyes on you, I knew you must be the one I’ve waited for. Madeline, would you do me the honor of marrying me?” Madeline frantically looked back at her mother, but Amella shook her head. It had to be Madeline’s decision at the end of the day.

“I- I- no. I’m sorry, but I can’t,” Madeline said, shaking her head. “Your Highness, you are a wonderful man, and I have no doubt you would be a fine husband, but I can’t marry you. Because…because I- I love someone else. And it wouldn’t be fair to you if I said yes.”

Madeline turned frantically to her mother, asking her to tell her where Fiona was. But Amella shook her head sadly. Fiona had, she said, left in the middle of the night.

“I have to find her,” Madeline said, rushing to the doors. “I have to find her because I love her, Mother. Yes, Fiona. The girl you treated like nothing for all those years. She is the best thing in my life, and I can’t let her slip away again.”

“Darling,” Amella said, reaching for her daughter. Madeline pulled away, insisting she had to. “No, darling. I’ve already tried. I sent Yanni out to look for her as soon as she left. To bring her home. But she’s gone.” Madeline stiffened. He just hadn’t looked hard enough.

The Prince stepped forward, offering to help. But Madeline knew Fiona could never have left this house. Not with her mothers buried just around the corner. And to Madeline’s relief, there she lay.

“Fiona!” she gasped, shaking her awake. Amella pulled up just short of the tree’s boundary, and watched. “Fiona, please. I love you. I don’t care about anything else, except loving you. You’re everything.”

“But the Prince,” Fiona said, sitting up. “Madeline, you deserve better.” Madeline shook her head. She cared just as much as Elle had. Not at all.

“Please, marry me?” Madeline asked. “I know my mother has not been kind to you, but I swear she will never give you another order again.” Amella stepped forward, kneeling in front of Fiona. She took her hands, pressing a gentle kiss to her wrists.

“Forgive me, Fiona,” Amella said. “I have been horrible to you, and there is no excuse. I let my anger and jealousy blind me, and I swear to you I will spend every moment of my life making it up to you.”

“I blamed myself, at first.” Fiona sighed, resting her head on Madeline’s shoulder. “Then I blamed you. And then I blamed myself again. Now, I’m too tired to blame anyone. It’s okay, and in the past. I forgive you, and it doesn’t matter anymore. You didn’t throw me out, and you were never cruel beyond those first few days. You loved my mother, and I love your daughter. And I can’t give her wealth, or status, or anything except myself. But I will do my best.”     

A delighted giggle brought their attention around. Saffron clapped excitedly. Amella started, looking at the strange woman in front of her. Madeline laid a comforting hand on her shoulder, promising to tell her everything later.

“Luckily for you two lovebirds,” Saffron said. “I’m ordained. Now, up! Lenora’s gathering everyone together, because it’s time for a wedding!”

Fiona’s eyes widened, but she laughed delightedly. A wedding, she thought dizzily. A wedding to a woman she loved more than anyone. Amella pulled her into a tight hug, tears leaking out of her eyes. Marvalyn raced from the house, a blushing Princess in tow. Madeline and Fiona exchanged knowing looks. They had a sneaking suspicion Elle had found a potential consort.

Lenora pressed gentle kisses on Madeline and Fiona’s cheeks before she and Saffron waved their hands. Gasps filled the air as before their very eyes, their clothing changed. Fiona stood, wearing her mother’s dress. Choking down a sob, she threw her arms around Lenora who seemed startled, but quickly adjusted.

And Madeline and Fiona married each other beneath the shade of a weeping willow. Fiona’s mothers couldn’t be there with her, but her mother-in-law could be. Fiona deserved better, and she was finally going to see it come to fruition.


End file.
